


60's nostalgia

by CMDAK



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22391953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: James Bond is a famous movie star who gets a recently crashed car as a bribe to keep from dropping out of the spy movie he's starring in. He also gets a mechanic to fix said car, a young man who calls himself Q and who not only interests James but who also wears something that hints that he prefers male companionship between the sheets.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 9
Kudos: 130
Collections: 2019-2020 00Q Reverse Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mr_quartermaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_quartermaster/gifts).



> This work was inspired by the wonderful mr_quartermaster's art <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks for Opalescent for doing their best to help me by betaing this monster of a fic. I reached out a bit too late to get all of it fixed but bless their soul for doing everything they could and for getting as far as they did.
> 
> That said, I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The room resembled a torture chamber more than a recuperating Centre, and James kept his cool about him even as his assigned female physician – who had been done with his attitude since the moment he opened his mouth – informed him that the nickname of the machine that he was about to be strapped in for the next half an hour was ‘the rack’.

“I’m not surprised,” he said casually, giving the area around the contraction a quick look to see if there was an emergency off button that could be easily reached – there wasn’t and he was going to write a strongly worded letter to the Centre’s headquarters about that.

“Oh, get on,” she said exhaustedly, almost making James regret his little game.

_Almost_. “Where’s the kickstarter on this thing?” He continued his tease, straddling the table as if it were a very misunderstood motorcycle.

This made his caretaker grit her teeth. “Oh, stop fooling around and face down, please.” She took a bit more pleasure than she should be while strapping him down on ‘the rack’, but then again she could easily charge all the girls back at MI6 to do the same and she’d retire in just one day on a private island.

But that was actually perfect. He had annoyed her so much that the friendly façade she was forced to wear when handling customers had cracked, which made her ripe of his little interrogation session. “By the way, who is the man in the room next to your Count Lippe?”

“I really don’t know too much about him,” she said honestly as she moved to secure his hands. “A Mister Angelo; he’s here with a private physician, recuperating from an awful car crash I understand.” She made no attempt to hide the insult and disappointment in her voice at how the rich people pompousness stopped her from making extra money, but she was quick to revert back to her friendly smile as she started the machine.

“There now; first time I’ve felt really safe all day.” Her look lingered on the way James was made to stretch and thrust by the machine, and James was sure that he was going to get to show her how it felt to be under him while he did that without the help of anything mechanical. “I’ll look in and see how you are doing in 15 minutes.”

James kept a straight face for about a minute after she left and then the rack got to him and he flinched, silently cursing the machine, his body, and his job as sharp jabs of pure white pain travelled up his spine. He was supposed to stand 15 minutes of this and then walk away on his own two feet, with his pride intact, and feeling better? That had to be a total load of bull and he was now sure that he had seen a similar contraction in the Tower.

A glance at the clock got him scowling, his already aching back a testament that the blasted thing was broken because he couldn’t be feeling so much pain after just two bloody—

“It was nice to have met you, Mister Sterling,” a familiar voice said from just outside his field of vision before the machine went into overdrive. “A pity I can’t stay to enjoy your final moments, but I’m sure they will be painful.”

James began to desperately struggle, his sense of self-preservation taking over his huge ego – that he admitted to having only when he was close to death – and he actually called out for help although his shouts were covered by the sound of the machine while the world around him got darker with every second and the pain in his body got more unbearable.

The last thought that crossed his mind as he passed out was that this had to be the most embarrassing way in all of MI6 history a double oh agent had died.

***

“And, cut!” With that order, thunderous applause erupted and the set assistants rushed to free their star from his binds while another brought him his silk robes and a mug of freshly brewed coffee. “That was excellent, Mister Bond! The faces you were making…” The director – a tall man who loved suits even more than James, but who spared all the expenses when it came to their material and who was making them by the name of Max Denbigh – trailed off into a sob, lightly slapping the chest of his newest personal assistant – who James couldn’t be bothered to learn his name because he was probably going to be replaced in one week tops – to continue for him.

And because the man loved his fat checks and seemingly knew from others just how fast he could lose his job if he didn’t do what was expected of him instantly, he was right on cue. “We were feeling the intense pain with you! You are sure to win—”

“Do we need to reshoot this or are we done for the day?” James interrupted, too tired and still too sore from yesterday’s car crash to accept the customary brownnosing that always seemed to go on for eternity like the director was afraid that he’d suddenly decide to break a very lucrative contract and risk getting blacklisted and sued for all he was worth and more if his butt cheeks didn’t have any kiss marks on them. “I don’t think I have anything left in me for more after yesterday,” he added in a weaker voice, letting out a suffering sigh and even wobbling to drive the point home.

That got a bigger reaction than he wanted, forgetting in his tired state that his words could easily be taken as a very strong hint that he was thinking about suing the studio for something that had been out of their control and sending everyone into a pleasing frenzy, James suddenly finding himself eased into a very comfortable armchair that hadn’t been behind him a moment ago while two set doctors were giving him an impromptu check-up and Max and his assistant were kneeling in front of him.

“Mister Bond, I swear on my life that yesterday was a one-off thing and it will never happen again!” Max sat up a little and James foolishly thought that he realized how ridiculous he was being, but no. Max had moved back to pull out a folded piece of paper from his jacket before crawling closer to James to explain what he was holding. “The studio and our main sponsor decided to show their – rather our, if I’m being honest – appreciation by gifting you with the Aston Martin.”

James arched his eyebrow and even the two doctors stopped their probing to turn and give the director an incredulous look. “I’m asking you if we are done for the day because my shoulder is acting up, and you’re telling me that you’re gifting me with the car that I crashed in yesterday because you ignored poor driving conditions. What am I to do with a half-smashed car anyway? Look at the engine that’s hanging outside of t and remember how well it used to work while trying to ignore the way my shoulder hurts?”

The moment of complete and total silence that fell around him reminded James of a funeral, that image not helped at all by the high pitched sob that left the director’s mouth, his eyes shining like actual tears were not that far behind.

Now, James was among the actors who were of the opinion that seasoned directors had hung around actors long enough to learn the basics of acting in order to survive the random fits of grandeur and ‘holier than thou’ moments that the well-known actors tended to have. They knew when to shed a tear and when to laugh to get their leading actor to do what they were supposed to in order to finish filming without damaging the script. Under normal circumstances, James would be sure that he was witnessing nothing more than an act.

This time, however… James had worked with this particular director many times before and even though Max had well over 40 years in the business, he couldn’t act his way out of a drenched paper bag.

He always sounded unnatural when he lied, his fake laughter so exaggerated that even a deaf man would be able to tell that it wasn’t natural by the way he placed his hands on his belly and his whole body moved with his supposed laugh at a really bad joke that a leading man or woman had just said; when it was expected of him to be sad, he’d not so subtly poke his eyes to get tears flowing because he just didn’t know any other way to pretend to be sad – even though he knew how to direct people to look like they were sad.

Then again, Max was smart so maybe he was only pretending not to know how to act in moments when it was very obvious that he had to act to fool others into thinking that he was rubbish and - this was not what he was supposed to be focusing on right now.

“It’s a simple question, not a veiled threat,” James decided to explain, feeling some of the tension in the room start to clear up.

Dabbing at his forehead with his own tie, Max’s assistant offered a strained laugh. “No one was thinking that, Mister Bond! We were just shocked to hear that you thought we would do such a terrible thing!” His shaky voice implied that he and his studio had thought just that, stupidly hoping that James wouldn’t figure out the problem with the offer until it was too late. “We’ll pay the best mechanic in London to come to your house and make the car even better than it was originally.”

Max looked like he was close to throttling him. “That really goes without saying, Mister Bond. As for the scene…” He trailed off and the praising started again which made James openly show his irritation and tiredness. “What I’m trying to get across, Mister Bond, is that you acted so well in that scene that even a blind man would call it a masterpiece and no re-shooting would be necessary and we’re wrapping up for the day.”

The room erupted in applause and Max pulled James to his feet and towards the door, shooing away the two doctors who were still trying to do their jobs. James almost allowed himself to smile and flatter himself but he caught sight of his own personal assistant, her sharp and cold glare keeping him firmly anchored in reality.

In his opinion, Eve Moneypenny was beyond wasted as his personal assistant. She was tough, smart, sneaky, pleasantly snarky when required, deadly allergic to going along with his ideas when they were bad, loyal, and efficient. James had been introduced to her 23 years ago, when he had been a rising young star who drank too much and hurt too fast, so he had laughed at her and even – shamefully – made some extremely rude comments regarding the fact that she was a woman of colour because of his latest heartbreak.

The moment he had sobered up a little, he had realized his mistake but because he hadn’t wanted to face that just yet, he’d gone searching around his apartment for fresh bottles of alcohol only to find that there were none. He’d been much too ill to go out and get some by himself so he’d tried to send the building’s doorman, promising him quite a hefty tip for all his troubles. What he’d gotten was warm food, hot coffee and a note from Miss Moneypenny that informed him that he was cut off from his poison of choice until he learned to consume it responsibly.

He had raged and promised to get the woman fired for her impudence – just as soon as he’d gotten a good night’s rest, of course. Only that night had been anything but restful. James was plagued with dreams of his deceased mother being beyond disappointed in him and giving him a good scolding and thrashing for being rude and disrespectful to someone he didn’t know. He’d been so desperate to get away from the wraith that his mother had turned into that he had jumped out of a window in his dream and woke up on the ground, his head feeling like it was ready to explode and his back aching so hard that he now had a good inclination of what a football felt like after a match. He hated when the effect of vivid nightmares translated into headaches but at least now he was more than ready to apologize.

“I wonder if the world is made uglier for you or if it stays the same if I were to tell you that what you said didn’t even register as an insult to me.” Eve’s voice had been emotionless as she’d handed James a steaming cup of coffee, eerily sweet smile in place. “But keep in mind that I only give people one chance and Mrs. Mansfield likes me quite a lot.”

Deciding that he hadn’t needed the offered coffee, James had hid his discomfort with the smile that had landed him countless small roles at the beginning of his career. “She can’t like you all that much if she made you my personal assistant. You’d be my 10th one this year, and I didn’t fire any of them nor was I crass with them like I was with you last night.”

His threat had made Eve chuckle. “You’ll see why she likes me and just how much she likes me soon, Mister Bond. Provided you really aren’t the Neanderthal I saw last night.”

Eve had proved her worth and made James eat his words and apologized for doubting her not three days after that, somehow managing to do what his manager had failed to – land him a leading role he actually wanted and that paid handsomely.

Since then, Eve’s word had become almost law to James as she was the only person on this Earth whose advice he was willing to consider before he inevitably did something stupid. How she had yet to get any white hairs because of him was a complete mystery to him, but he was more than happy that she was still by his side and that she was always honest with him, no matter how famous he had gotten.

“Am I going to have to re—”

“You looked like you were in pain even before the deadly setting on the machine was started, so I’d advise reshooting this when your shoulder gets better,” Eve interrupted him, motioning a stagehand over and handing him the contract Max had slipped in James’ jacket.

“Have dear Mister Denbigh add that the studio will pay for the best mechanic in London and have said mechanic bring this with him tomorrow so Mister Bond can sign.” She flashed the man one of her usual cold smiles, sending him running like the Devil himself was following him. “Where would you be without me, James?” she asked when she saw James’ surprised face – and really, how was it possible for him to be surprised by her after so many years of working together?

“Probably wasting away in a ditch somewhere.”


	2. Chapter 2

Q loved machines. He considered them simple in their complication and simply adored getting covered in oil from head to toe as he worked himself to exhaustion to get them working properly or improved.

It was precisely because of that latter reason that he hated wearing proper clothes when working on something and why whenever he was summoned by ‘walking money’ to work on their cars in a bloody suit so he wouldn’t devalue their properly or some nonsense like that, he went out of his way to get as dirty as possible to make his employers beg that he dressed as he usually did.

Still, this was the first time that he had been given a three-piece suit that felt and looked expensive. And it was because of it that he was effectively frozen on the stone pathway that led to the garage where he saw the badly damaged Aston Martin that he was expected to fix, afraid that he’d get grass stains on his bloody uniform. Then there was the whole perfectly manicured lawn around the car that wouldn’t be in the same state by the time he was done fixing that wreck, and he could just hear the nervous breakdown that the owner was going to have when they saw that. Seriously, who dumped a—

“I haven’t seen you around the studio before,” someone called from up above, and when Q tilted his head back to put a face to the familiar voice, he was shocked for a moment to see James Bond himself staring at him from the first floor of the grandiose house.

“I do hope you didn’t crawl over the wall just to meet me, if you are a fan. You’ll find that I’m quite unpleasant when it comes to uninvited guests in my own home at such an early hour in the morning,” James warned.

Schooling his features to look unfazed, Q held out his work contract. “I was instructed to bring this to you, Mister Bond.” He realized the ridiculousness of what he was doing pretty quickly as even if James had perfect vision, it would be impossible to tell what it said on the paper. “It’s the ownership of the Aston Martin as well as my mechanic contract that stipulates that the studio will pay for my handiwork as well as for whatever piece that needs to be replaced to bring the car back to its former glory. Any upgrades will come from your pocket.”

His new customer disappeared from the window and not a minute later Q found himself staring a bit too long at a half-dressed James Bond. He silently admitted to himself that he owed some of his friends quite a few pounds for betting against James actually being as chiselled and well-toned as he appeared in the movies.

“Shouldn’t you be in a school somewhere?” James asked, plucking the contracts from Q’s thin fingers before starting to circle him. “I easily counted ten spots from upstairs and now that I’m close, I easily see more. How can you claim not only to be a mechanic but also the best one in London?”

Q regretted wanking to thoughts of this rude man. “I assure you, sir, that although I look young enough to be insulted by people whose eyesight is starting to fail them due to their old age, I am the best in Europe.”

“Don’t your glasses get in the way of that?” James countered smugly, half-heartedly glancing over the contracts.

Reminding himself that he had been dying to work on an Aston Martin for quite some time and that he needed this job – and also deciding to assume that James Bond could be a bit more pleasant after drinking some tea or coffee to wash out the whiskey he had most certainly drank the previous night if his breath was anything to go by – Q bit his tongue.

“I thought that it was common knowledge that glasses, in general, help make things much clearer. Oh, and I must insist that you take note of the fact that they do wonders for those who stop dyeing their hair and accepted that their natural colour is now white.” Okay, so he didn’t bite his tongue that hard, but he was still the best of the best.

“I’ll let my older friends know,” James said slowly, eyes narrowed. “You still look too young to be the best at anything other than cutting classes.”

Sighing and slumping, Q said his usual line. “Age is no guarantee of efficiency.” For whatever reason, the concept of young geniuses - if Q said so himself - in real life was one that most people couldn’t accept, although they were a dime a dozen in movies.

He’d been laughed at by his teachers when he’d said that advanced things were easy until he’d proved that for him, they were. He’d been laughed at by his colleagues for raising his hand at a question that was supposed to be too hard for anyone to answer until he got the right answer in less than ten minutes and the teacher himself was taking down notes. His boss had laughed at him when he showed up and promised that he’d put his little shop on the maps until the juggernauts of the car industry had openly fought to get him to look over their cars.

Q had enjoyed proving everyone wrong at first but it got tiresome after a while and most of the times he felt tempted to charge extra those who wanted to see for themselves if he really was as good as he claimed; though in James’ case, he’d charge him double just because he had started harping on his age without so much as a ‘good morning’.

“And I wager that youth is no guarantee of innovation,” James shot back, making Q crack a very small smile because this was the first time that someone actually had a good comeback.

James’ face remained expressionless but Q saw his shoulders slump as he relaxed a little. “Why the suit? Are you so good at what you do that you won’t get dirty?”

“Actually—”

“James Bond out of the house of his own free-will on a day he needs to visit the doctor?” A gleeful shout interrupted him, a beautiful woman dressed in a taupe high-neck dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a waist-cinching black leather belt and wearing pretty high heels sliding into view from behind Q. “And what – or who – is the cause for this miracle?”

The teasing in her tone and the sourness on James’ face tipped Q off that the two were pretty close. That became clearer still when the woman leaned closer to James so she could poke at his well-toned biceps and Q was quick to turn away, giving them privacy.

He understood even better now why the studio representative who had knocked on his door at a very unholy hour of the day had been so insistent on him needing to sign a non-disclosure agreement.

Now, Q was the last person who would gossip about anyone’s personal life not only because he really couldn’t care less but also because he knew just how dangerous that could be for everyone involved. Still, he couldn’t blame the studio for wanting to keep James’ apparent relationship on the down-low, given the nature of the young lady’s background. He wasn’t okay with that, but he understood.

A light tap on his shoulder brought Q out of his thoughts, and when he turned around he was greeted by the woman’s full smile that showed her perfect white teeth. “Is he—?”

“The guy who’s supposed to fix my car and not some young fan playing hooky? Yes, yes, he is, Eve,” James quickly interrupted the woman, handing her the contract that Q had brought with him. “Can’t explain the suit though.”

At this, both of them turned their eyes on Q who shifted his weight from one foot to the other, disliking the attention. “My boss insisted on behalf of the studio that I look proper.” He also straightened up and made sure to smile.

“Well, thank God you’re not an actor,” the woman teased, quickly scanning the contract before extending her hand to Q. “I’m Eve Moneypenny, this one’s personal assistant and full-time babysitter.” They shook hands and Eve tugged Q closer so she could whisper. “Now no offense but your name is a bit of a handful, so I’m guessing you have a nickname?”

Though his parents couldn’t be called high school graduates – not because they were dumb but because it was kind of impossible to do that when your country had been occupied by the Nazis and you were struggling to smuggle yourself and your unborn child out – they loved smart-sounding names so Q had gotten stuck with something that made English speakers struggle. Not only because it was French but also because it was the name of a character that appeared in this one book that had never gotten translated into any other language.

As was the case with everyone who didn’t have the money to back a ridiculous name, he hated his name with a burning passion. But he loved his parents too much to change it while they were alive, so he’d made a compromise. “Everyone just calls me Q, Miss Moneypenny.”

“Eve’s everything but a Miss,” James muttered under his breath loud enough to be heard and to earn himself a rather painful punch to the shoulder. “Not a lady either.” He dodged the second punch but ended up in a headlock. “I’m no longer amused and my patience is wearing thin,” he threatened.

She just increased her hold, silencing him while still smiling at Q. “Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Q. You can call me Eve,” James tried to step on Eve’s foot, but she easily dodged and stepped on his instead, “and don’t hesitate to let me know if James forgets his age or that he isn’t supposed to tug on your metaphorical ponytail.”

Q furrowed his brows and tilted his head. This was, by far, the most confusing job he had ever had, and he was pretty sure that at one point, he had been hired by an old, rich archduke who wanted his car to have invisible side mirrors because he thought they made all the cars he owned look bulky. Though, in all honesty, that man had been so shady that he couldn’t be anything else but a spy, and since Q couldn’t tell which country he served, he’d gone out of his way to prove how impossible that was.

And it kind of was. Well, with the technology they currently had. Everything would need to be shrunk before he could even think about coming up with proper blueprints for something like a cloaking device, and while he was good, he wasn’t so full of himself as to even dream about being able to—

“Q? Q, are you still with us?” Eve asked as she lightly tapped on the side of Q’s head, James nowhere in sight.

“I was thinking about what needs to be done to fix the car,” Q lied, tugging at his shirt’s collar.

Eve chuckled, carefully placing her arm around Q’s shoulders as she stepped with him on the grass and moved closer to the car. “I think you’ll have an easier time with that if you actually examined the car, right?”

Her voice was gentle and Q couldn’t detect a single note of condescension, which made him like her even more. He let himself relax with her in his personal space. “Also, feel free to come dressed as you want; a suit that’s one size too large for you is bound to get in your way.”

Q felt the tips of his ears burn. Because he was sure that his face put to shame a ripe tomato, he was quick to move to the car, forgetting about everything else the moment he saw from up close how the Aston Martin looked - and he was pretty sure that the reason his left side of his body went numb was because he was having a heart attack.

“I can’t fix this on your lawn…” He trailed off when he saw that he was alone - allowing himself a moment to childishly wonder if perhaps Eve and James were vampires since they could disappear so fast and without making a noise - and then groaned, carefully taking off his jacket before throwing it on the perfect lawn. “Something tells me that I’m not paid enough for this.”


	3. Chapter 3

Though not exactly a teenager when the Second World War had started, James had found himself roped into the Navy. He’d never gotten to see a true battle, but he had quite a few U-boat sinks under his belt and the proper soldier training deeply embedded in his brain.

He woke up every day at exactly 6 in the morning without an alarm, did ten push-ups, took a cold shower and then proceeded to enjoy a subpar cup of coffee with and two boiled eggs and two cigarettes. And then he got that car and his habits had changed.

Though it wasn’t the car per se that did that. It was the young mechanic who woke up even earlier than him to come grumble under his breath about everything and everyone while he sat hunched over the hood of the car, perky ass framed perfectly by pants that simply had to be too tight for a mechanic up in the air with that navy blue handkerchief hanging from his right pocket, teasing him about a maybe that he desperately wanted to be true.

Thing was, Q never used that handkerchief for anything. The first time James saw it – and Q dressed in his preferred clothes that made him look like a walking rainbow – he had dismissed it. After all, a mechanic needed something to wipe his face or hands and maybe Q just liked blue except, Q had a different one – a cream one – which he never kept on himself per se like he was afraid he’d send out the wrong message.

Then again, given what cream in the right pocket meant if James’ hunch was right, it made perfectly good sense for Q to want it as far away from him as possible if that wasn’t his thing.

“If that itch of yours needs scratching again, why not drop by that club where everyone worships the ground you walk instead of creeping on the mechanic?” Eve asked out of nowhere, pushing James to the side so she could lean out the window. Her hot pink and black checked suit with a belt, black gloves, and pearl earrings caught James’ attention and he was momentarily jealous that he was contractually obligated to wear simple dark suits in public for as long as he was playing Richard Sterling. “And you’re so rude to him, never inviting him in for a hot mug of something or another.”

Moving away from the window just in time to avoid being seen by Q who got distracted from his tinkering by Eve’s less than subtle voice, James planted himself back down in front of his cold breakfast. “Need I remind you that the last time I talked to him, he called me old? Also, I’m not creepy, I’m curious.”

“Curious about how he looks naked?”

James barely kept himself from grinning – the woman knew him all too well. “I have a strong suspicion that he’s a friend of Mrs. King.” He held up a single finger to motion Eve to keep quiet and listen until he was done. “Since I assume that you were also eyeing his behind because that is the only thing visible of him right now, you must have noticed the clean blue fabric coming out of his right pocket.” Eve gave a short nod, but there was still doubt in her eyes. “But never mind my hunch. What are you doing here? It’s far too early for you to do a curtesy visit.”

Eve suddenly had a very sweet smile on her face and James didn’t like that. He also hated the large yellow envelope she pulled out of her case and he outright groaned when he saw how thick it was. “Seems the director decided that your lines the previous scrip was a bit boring and bland, so he ordered some changes.”

“I was expecting that,” he said honestly, leafing through the script. “How fast am I expected to learn these new lines?”

“After getting your personal physician and the two set doctors to confirm that you are still in pain – and casually mentioning that Q will have to start hammering every day now to get the car back in a proper shame – Mr. Denbigh decided that three days is the only answer.” James was happy that she was on his side – he also cursed the world for making it extra-hard for people like Eve to become lawyers or big movie stars. “Do be enough of an adult to actually learn them on time and if you feel the need to creep on Q, don’t.”

She was a complete pain and James couldn’t wait for the world to change so she’d torment some other poor soul with her sharp eye and witty comments.

“Still,” she continued as she filled a pitcher with water and stuck it in the fridge, “if you were inclined to bring him a cold glass of water on this very hot day, which would make you a decent human being and not a horny bastard.”

She made herself scarce after that final little tease, leaving James to groan and roll his eyes through the script. People got paid to write those lines and he was getting paid to say them and as fun as his movies ended up being when he was finally done with the gruelling task of looking suave while things exploded a bit too close to him for his liking, he still couldn’t believe that the ridiculous plot, characters, and lines blended so well together to create a blockbuster.

He decided to put the revised script away when he reached the 4th woman that Richard slept with already sure of the unfortunate fate she was bound to meet after the tumble. He was going to speak with Max \about toning it down with Richard’s on-screen ‘sexcapades’ and explained that three different lovers – which included the main love interest for the movie, the so-called villainess, and the mandatory one at the beginning of the movie that was there just to establish that Sterling was the man with the mojo – were more than enough unless he wanted to become a two-bit master of the naughty films and see if he could add a bit more of an unexpected fan favourite – the Quartermaster.

“The Quartermaster, Q,” he said between chuckles, turning to look towards the window. Two weeks to make the very obvious connection between the nickname of a character that came up with all sorts of impossible gadgets in a movie in which he played the main character and the mechanic that was brought in to fix his new toy was a huge embarrassment but it didn’t make it any less amusing.

The sun hurting his eyes also reminded him of the pitcher of water Eve had put in the fridge a few hours ago and since he was thirsty, he imagined that Q had to be parched. James knew Q had a thermos that he always refilled from a garden hose but the weather was just too nice and the temperature too high for that kind of water to do him any good, so it was his duty to make sure that the young mechanic stayed hydrated.

He spent a little more time than necessary picking out a glass for Q to use and then wasted some more looking in the mirror to make sure he looked his usual fine way before finally making his way to Q, a bit disappointed to find him under the car instead of hunched over with his perky ass up in the air.

He gently nudged Q’s foot when he failed to get his attention by clearing his throat and greeted him with a huge smile when he rolled out from under the car and found himself staring up at James’ crotch. “Left your ogle fakes behind, cove?” James asked before he fully processed his plan of using the language people that loved their own gender invented when it registered in his mind that the reason why Q was looking at him with squinted eyes was because he didn’t have his glasses on.

Q looked panicked for a moment but then he relaxed and the squint was now definitely a glare. “I find myself filled with dread at the prospect of Richard Sterling pretending to be a blue,” Q murmured, using James’ legs to push himself from under him, their backs almost touching when he jumped on his feet. “What can I do for you, Mister Bond?”

Q understanding what James had said and responding in kind all but confirmed his hunch but since Q brought up his movie, he decided to insist on the matter – for now, at least. “Drink some cold water if you are thirsty,” James said simply, turning around to face Q and holding up the pitcher.

A soft pink spread over Q’s face and James felt his heart do a funny thing that it hadn’t honestly done in years. “I was about to refill my thermos but cold water is more than welcome, so thank you,” Q said before greedily gulping the water down directly from the pitcher.

James patiently waited for Q to be done and for the imminent brain-freeze to pass before he spoke again. “Will she live?”

“Though not a doctor,” Q started, actually sounding playful, “I am a miracle worker so not only will she live, she’ll be better than ever in just two more days.” He took another big gulp from the pitcher, emptying it before handing it back to James. “I guess I was thirstier than I thought.”

“That just means that I’m a horrible host for not making it clear that you are more than free to come into the kitchen and grab yourself something to drink or eat,” James said, making sure that their fingers brushed when he took the pitcher back.

Wiping his mouth on his upper arm, Q flashed James a strained smile. “I’m not your guest, Mister Bond, so need to feel too bad about not letting someone who works for your into your house, especially since you were not the one who hired me. And speaking of my job,” Q stepped around James and kneeled in front of the car, running his fingers over the biggest dent. “While I can fix the body so that it would look brand new, I strongly advise that you strong-arm the studio stooges into ordering a new one from the Aston factory. I tried ordering one on your behalf but since technically speaking it’s not considered a vital piece of the car, it has to be bought.”

James blinked slowly as his brain decided that it had processed something so moronic that his attention needed to move away from the droplet of water that slowly moved down Q’s chin until it disappeared under his shirt to the wrecked car – it would have moved to Q’s lips, but they were red and plump and chewed and all those three were James’ kinks. “How is the body not a vital part of the car?”

Q shrugged. “The car still works without it so they are right. The fact that it would fall apart not too long after it started is a technicality as far as they are concerned.” He grabbed the cream coloured rag from the hood of the car and wiped his hands before going around to the driver’s side and pulling out a yellow envelope which he held out to James. “I went ahead and asked for a quote. You just need to…” He trailed off and frowned when he saw James sign on the dotted line before rolling it up and stuffing in the right pocket of his blue silk robe. “It’s quite expensive and unfair, Mister Bond,” Q insisted.

“Not to blow my own horn but I’m not exactly poor. Getting the car fixed for free was more of a principal thing,” James explained, now digging around in the left pocket of his robe and retrieving a cigarette, not missing how closely he was being watched. “Want one?”

Q took a few steps back. “I’m trying to quit and I have enough oil on myself to light up like a torch but thank you for the offer. And for the water,” he added and after a moment of awkward silence, excused himself and disappeared back under the car.

Robbed of the only thing excuse not to torment himself with the new script, James had no choice but to go back inside where, after staring at the freshly cooked lunch that his personal chef had made for him, he decided to continue being a proper host and send it to Q. And if the big lunch was so good that it made Q drowsy and delayed the car getting fixed, well then that was an unexpected happy accident that he wasn’t going to complain about


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue in left - top (regular)  
> Blue on right - bottom (regular  
> Silver in left - starfucker - someone who actively looks to sleep with stars  
> Polari (or alternatively Parlare, Parlary, Palare, Palarie, Palari; from Italian parlare, “to talk”) is a form of cant slang used in Britain by actors, circus and fairground showmen, criminals, prostitutes, and by the gay subculture.  
> Ogle fakes - glasses  
> Cove - friend  
> Fantabulosa - fantastic/fabulous   
> Blue - gay man  
> Being a friend of Mrs King - being part of the LGBTQ+ (the UK version of the US ‘Friends of Dorothy)

Q had never seen anyone look as disappointed as James Bond when he was presented with a practically brand new Aston Martin that worked better than before. Maybe it was the colour – especially ordered for James, mind you, at the instructions of his most lovely assistant, Eve – or maybe it was the fact that Q had gone one day over the promised deadline but whatever it was, James was not happy.

Eve was also aware of James’ mood and while Q had seen her verbally smacking James whenever his ego go too big for the word, she was doing her best to put him at ease by waiving a newspaper in front of his face. “Royalty themselves are jealous of your one of a kind car, James! And both the studio and Aston Martin are so happy with the free advertisement that…” She trailed off when James blew smoke in her general direction, shaking her head as she visibly contemplated rolling up the newspaper and smacking him over the head.

By this point, Q was annoyed. He was supposed to test-drive the car around James’ estate and then be present while James did the same on the studio lot in front of the stooges that paid the bills so of course his boss insisted that he dressed in nice clothes that actually fitted him and in which he felt comfortable. Thanks to his boss, Q also got his hair done in a sort of pompadour style with the sides of his head shaved a little so all he was thinking about was that he was going to have gel dripping on him and be forced to look like a bloody clown that stuck his fingers in an outlet until his hair grew out because this giant man baby that looked too good and hinted at things too nice to be true moped around because of the bloody colour of the car.

“Look, the car works without bursting into flames no matter the colour,” Q finally snapped, pushing James aside to get in. “The studio wants it painted anyway so who cares if it’s green for the moment?” Q continued to grumble as he buckled up and angrily shoved the keys in the contact, the engine coming to life instantly with a pleasant purr. “No big explosion so far but do take a step back,” he advised and then stepped on the gas when Eve had dutifully listened to him and put enough space between herself and the car that her blue and white Valentino tunic and matching pants would remain spotless.

Fussy Bond and his grey suit could suck it.

He reached 100 km/h in 5 seconds and he had no problem taking a sharp right turn even after the car reached 245 km/h – which was an extra 12 km/h added to the car’s top speed, something which hadn’t been easy to do. The car wasn’t shaking or making any horrible noises and it was easy to get it to do what you want it to do, the wheel offering no resistance no matter how sudden Q changed direction and when he started to push the break, the car instantly followed his orders and started to slow down.

By the time he came to a full stop right next to an – dare he say it – amazed James Bond, he couldn’t help the huge grin on his face. “And both myself and the car are in one piece,” he said in one breath, running his hands down the wheel. He couldn’t help but feel proud of what he had done, even if the original car build hadn’t been done by him, but he had improved it, made it his own, so every ounce of happiness he felt was earned. “A clear guarantee that you will be the envy of the world even if it’s green, wouldn’t you say so, Mister Bond?”

But James looked as sour as he did before, maybe even more. “It’s fine,” he muttered, glaring at the car. “Load the car in the pickup if the studio remembered that we’re supposed to be on a schedule?”

“Everything is waiting for us in front of the house,” Eve said dismissively, her full attention on Q. “You did a wonderful job, Q! I don’t understand why car companies aren’t clamouring to get you to sing with them.”

“They want me to be an apprentice until I get enough experience but I want to be able to afford doing something more than barely scraping by so I’ll stick with my current employer for now,” Q explained loudly, slowly following Eve in the car to wherever he was supposed to go, noting that it was just one fancy black one and a pickup truck that had a black tarp near it.

He was smart enough to put two and two together and know what he was supposed to do without anyone telling him so he wasted no time getting the car loaded on the platform and covering it before climbing in front of the truck, next to the driver.

There was no time wasted either when it came to arriving at the studio, the pick-up driver visibly struggling to keep up with James’ car, Q suspecting that the police received a substantial donation for turning a blind eye at all the speeding and traffic law bending that was happening.

They arrived at the studio in no time were an army of reporters were waiting for them, madly taking snapshots of the pickup truck even if the car they couldn’t see it, shoving their microphones in James’ face, asking all sorts of questions that had nothing to do with one another.

Security saved them just as Q was starting to feel dizzy and when he was done rubbing his eyes he was staring at a stone-faced James Bond that was holding the door open for him. “I will bring the car down in just a moment.”

“My actions in the morning might have implied that I was unsatisfied with the car, but my ill disposition was caused by a rather nasty headache,” James said in one go, face softening as he hold out his hand for Q. When Q simply stared at the offered hand, James pulled his hand back and stepped aside, letting Q get out on his own. “You did a wonderful job with the car. I daresay that it looks better than it did originally and the colour if unique and makes the car even more fascinating, just like the mechanic who brought it back to life.”

Before Q could say anything, an irritated man – who might have drank one too many coffees if his trembling arms were anything to go by – grabbed Q’s arm and tugged him to the back of the pickup truck. “I’m pretty sure you’re not paid by the hour, so why is that not on the track yet?”

Obviously, the hyperactive worker had missed James standing not one foot away from Q so when the man made his presence known, looking as sour as he did a car ride ago, he actually let out a little yelp and jumped back, clutching his heart. Q suspected that James was getting ready to give him a heart attack but Eve had a sort of a sixth sense and always appeared in the most dire of moments.

“They are still setting up the cameras to get that perfect shot so we still have time to get you, James, looking even more dashing than you already do while Q brings the car around to the track.” The way she smiled and pushed her hair out of her eyes when she talked had every man around her wrapped her little finger and Eve was more than aware of that, winking on Q before she focused on a drooling bystander. “Would you be so kind and find a chair for the mechanic of the hour?”

“You might end up sitting in my chair,” James whispered really close to Q’s ear, the corner of his lips twitching upwards when Q turned his head a bit to glare at him. “I’m sure we’ll find a way to both fit in it, don’t worry.”

Feeling his face start to heat up, Q quickly sprang into action and the car was on the track in less than ten minutes, happy that his chair had been put in a place where it was guaranteed he’d be lost in a sea of people and unable to see or be seen by anyone that was sitting up front.

The test started with a literal bang as if they were at the tracks, the commenter sounding so excited that Q expected his heart to give out any moment Cameras flashed every second and he worried for a moment that James might be blinded by all the light, but the test ended successfully and with no incident

Q was whisked to the front and had some more cameras shoved in his face before finding himself shoved right back where he was, people bumping into him as they rushed to do their jobs and finally, having had enough of the whole circus and received the director’s blessing to move the star on wheels, he was quick to move the car in the parking lot where he planned on hiding until he was either needed or he was expected to vacate the premises because the day was over.

He wasn’t the only one that had that idea, James Bond joining him not five minutes later, angrily patting his grey trousers pockets. “I don’t suppose you have a lighter on you?” He grinned when Q held up the lighter and instead of taking it, leaned closer to him. “I’m a klutz with those things, so would you mind? I’d hate to make a fool of myself in front of so many cameras or worse still, delay the filming even more by setting myself on fire.”

“We are alone and you’re not covered in oil,” Q pointed out but nevertheless did what it was expected of him, leaning back on the Aston Martin in a vain attempt to regain some of his personal space as James just followed him. “What do you want from me, Mister Bond?”

Almost blowing smoke in Q’s face, James smirked, letting his other hand rest on the blue cloth that was barely peeking out from behind Q. “You have a very interesting choice in wardrobe and your vocabulary is fantabulosa to say the least.”

Q arched his eyebrow and stole his cigarette. “If we were to assume for a moment that I understood what you are hinting at, if you really knew what you were talking about, wouldn’t you know the difference between blue and silver and left and right?” He kept his voice low, afraid that someone would somehow hear them even though the parking lot was empty, very concerned that James looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Not to mention that it’s a very dangerous thing to talk about out in the open like this?”

“You definitely aren’t a star fucker and that’s just perfect since I’m not into that,” James murmured, leaning even closer to Q, their lips almost touching, his body heat washing over Q in waves that promised more if only their clothes weren’t in its way. “It seems that you took my last cigarette, so how about you share that smoke with me?”

For a moment, Q forgot himself and almost pushed his lips up against James to blow smoke in his mouth as quite a lot of his more intimate dreams had started like that – they had fewer clothes and were in a bed by now and maybe he had already been properly screwed into the mattress – but the last working brain cell took over and he slid out from under James, dropping the cigarette on the ground and crushing it beneath his heel. “I forgot that I had quit smoking.”

James looked disappointed and for a moment Q thought this was going to turn south really fast and he readied himself to sprint towards the safety of what he thought to be an exit but all James did was sigh and let his shoulders slump a little – not too much though; he was in his Sterling costume and while it didn’t bother him to let others see him being gay, he surely couldn’t slouch in public.

“Thank you for your hard work,” James murmured, pulling a new cigarette and a lighter from his pocket before slowly making his way back to the set.


	5. Chapter 5

Three weeks had passed since James had been shot down in the parking lot and Q still haunted to dark recess of his mind every now and then, popping into his thoughts when James least expected it. He couldn’t quite understand why as this was not the first time that he had been brutally rejected and while Q had been very pleasant to the eye, he couldn’t count the amount of people who were sexier than the mechanic and that also couldn’t wait to get in bed with James.

And yet there he was, behind the wheel of the recently repainted Aston Martin, getting ready to reshoot a chase scene that he was unable to focus on because he was too busy thinking about the amount of time Q spent with his face shoved in the motor and his ass in the air, humming songs or muttering to himself about extensive damage and whatnot.

“James, do you think you can try to push the car just a little bit further this time? Like enough for it to actually start?” Max pleaded with him literally on his knees, a desperate look in his eyes. “If you get it right, I promise that this will be the last scene for the day! There’s not enough light to do anything else anyway,” he added in a whisper under his breath, clutching his director horn hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.

James shrugged. “It’s been acting funny all day.” To prove it, he started the car and revved the engine twice, the engine stopping before he got to do it a third time. “See what I mean?”

Max’s mask of jolly disposition dropped for a moment but he was quick to repair it, his smile becoming bigger. “Well, we’ll have a mechanic look at it after the shoot, okay? You don’t have to rev the car, just drive it really fast and I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for such a great actor and driver like yourself, right?”

Normally, James would have been upset by both the brownnosing and the condescending but right now all he could focus on was about how Q was going to come back and on how he might get a second chance at… something, anything. “I will push the car as far as it will go,” he promised with a huge smile on his face making Max mutter his thanks to a God before patting his back and giving him a thumbs up.

“Alright everyone, let’s take this from the moment Sterling hopped into the car and hope for the best!” Okay that got James to glare in Max’s direction. “Places! Camera and…” He paused, glaring at the two poor makeup girls who were rushing through putting James’ face back on. “And action!”

That word made James feel like his blood was replaced with poor energy and with a quick glare at the camera, he pushed the gas pedal to the floor and the car lurched forward, creating that perfect wall of dust that Max had went on for hours from which the villains du jour sprung forth and gave chase.

He was going so fast that the world around him was nothing more than a blur and the air always got knocked out of him when he took a sharp turn, the smell of burnt rubber mixed with the sound of screeching wheels making him want more speed as his blood boiled.

The car was shaking, clearly not liking what was happening but James knew that it could go faster and if Max wanted him to give it his all, who was he to deny him that? Who was he to deny his fans the pleasure they got whenever they saw him drive around like a madman, no doubt picturing themselves in his place? And if the car suffered at the end of the day and a mechanic was needed to make it work again then that was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make for everyone.

He liked his lips now more determined than ever and shifted gears, cold dread filling him when the car let out an awful sound and the wheel wretched itself from his hands.


	6. Chapter 6

Q hadn’t been able to so much as look at a bolt ever since he’d read the evening papers detailing the horrific accident James had been involved in, his stomach turning and his brain drowning in all sorts of ‘what if’ scenarios.

What if he had forgotten to tighten a nut? What if he had connected two wires that he shouldn’t have had? What if he’d made one part of the engine too strong for another part to withstand so it exploded? What if he wasn’t as good as he thought he was and he had just cost the life of another simply because he wanted to show off?

He didn’t feel any better when he got a call from Eve – well, the right way to address her is Miss Moneypenny given that what he’d done to her boss and friend – asking him to come to Mister Bond’s house when he had the time. Had it not been for the fact that it would have taken two hours to get to the estate, making it ten at night when he finally got there, Q would have gone the second the call ended but as things were, he was forced to wait.

When morning finally came, Q was sure that he had experienced the longest night ever – the huge bags under his eyes a testament that he hadn’t slept a wink – only now Q dreaded going to the estate and seemed to do everything he could to delay the inevitable.

First, he decided that it was too early to go. The man was wounded so he was either under the influence of a lot of drugs or he had struggled to fall asleep because of his wounds so it would be simply rude to intrude on him at eight in the Morning. Then it was the fact that he couldn’t function properly without the right cup of tea which he ended up remaking three times before he decided that he couldn’t stomach it. After that, Q felt like he didn’t have any more excuses until he caught sight of his hair in the mirror and decided that today would be the day that he’d tame it.

He was a bit disappointed when he managed to do that two hours later, staring at the mirror for another fifteen minutes before sighing and admitting that if he didn’t leave then, he would always find a silly excuse not to go.

“Q, my dear, you look horrible,” Eve exclaimed the second he stepped out of the cab, wrapping her arm around his middle and dragging him inside the house. “I knew I should have sent the car after you last night but Mister Brooding upstairs insisted that you wanted to sleep and while I feel horrible for the way you currently look, I will spend at least five minutes rubbing it in—”

“Did I do something to cause the accident?” Q asked, cutting right to the chase.

“No,” Eve said and stepped to the side just in time for a tall man made out of muscles and nothing else to step out from the shadows and grab Q before he could fall to the ground in relief. “Q this is Hans, James’ new bodyguard; Hans this is Q, James’ mechanic.”

“Pleasure.” The room seemed to shake when Hans spoke. “Do you trust your legs enough for me to let you go?” Q shook his head and Hans turned to look at Eve.

“Set him on the armchair and bring him a tall glass of water and some sugar cubes if you won’t mind.” Hans gave a short nod before carefully placing Q down and then disappearing down the hallway that led to the kitchen. “I’m sorry for letting you stew in worry for so long, Q,” Eve started, handing Q a brown envelope, “but I only wanted to approach you after the getting the official report and James insisted that it was done face to face and not over the phone.”

Q didn’t need any prompting and Eve fell silent as he red through the report, glass of water and sugar cubes forgotten on the crystal table before them. Fifteen minutes later, the little colour that Q normally had returned to him accompanied by a deep frown.

“Sabotage,” he murmured, leaning back in the chair, eyelids heavy. “How is Mister Bond?”

“Still quite dead,” James said as he wobbled down the stairs, hissing at Hans until the man got the point and stepped back. “Then again, I’m guessing you are talking about my father since he was the one referred by that name and not me.”

“I’ve avoided saying your name,” Q murmured, eyes darting up and down James as he made a quick note of his injuries – right arm and leg in a cast so the impact was on that side, minute cuts all over his face so the window was down and he was spared from going through the windshield, but nothing permanent that would damage James’ career. “Thank you for putting my mind at ease.” Q got up and yawned, flinching when his jaw cracked. “I should head home.”

“Breakfast,” James said loudly and Q caught a few of the house staff rushing to the kitchen with the corner of his eye. “I wanted to invite you to have breakfast with me while we go over your new contract.”

“In case you are interested in fixing the Aston,” Eve explained when it became obvious that Q was still not catching on to what James was talking about, sending James a hard glare. “My suggestion of getting a new Aston was approved by both the studio and comped by the company itself but James must have hit his head harder than we thought because he’d still like the wreck to be restored.”

Breakfast-wife, Q’s stomach made the decision for him when it rumbled so loud that James was visibly struggling to remain serious. “Before I start eating you out of house and home, I have to mention that I saw the pictures and there’s nothing that I can do.” He moved forward when James got to the final step and held out his arm, curious if he was going to get the same treatment as Hans.

But James latched on to Q like he was his lifeline, his limping becoming more obvious – too obvious. “Then would you mind if we talk about what it would take for you to upgrade the new one? I promise that I won’t allow the studio to use it in the movie, so your hard work won’t be totalled for a second time.”

The contract was signed even before Q was done with the scrambled eggs and he was back hunching over the car the following day.


	7. Chapter 7

James was the rare actor who insisted on doing his own stunts. No one cared when he started out because every actor did their own stunts when they weren’t supposed to be anything more than the feeling of the movie world being lived in or cannon fodder for the main guy to prove that they were a badass that rightfully deserved to ride off into the sunset with the leading lady.

The few actors that ended up being more were happy to get stunt doubles to film the dangerous scenes, but not James. He needed a bit of adrenaline in his life after he became a civilian and he was of the opinion that if he was expected to embody a character, then it was only natural that he did what the script said his character did.

At first, when he was still a maybe-star, the directors he worked with were happy with that since it guaranteed free press and less money spent. Yet when he became a true movie star, his insistence became a nuisance to everyone involved, some of the newer directors wasting their time and words by literally getting on their knees and begging James to accept a stand-in because they valued his life – and because they didn’t want any delay in their shootings or higher insurance rates.

Not Max Denbigh though. Max had worked with James on so many projects that he knew better than to waste his time trying to talk him out of something and he also knew to take into consideration that James might need some serious recovery time so at least James was spared from the annoying ‘get well’ visits when people actually checked up on him to see they’ll need to recast him or not.

It didn’t save him from Eve who popped around even more than before, doctor in tow, to make sure that he was taking his pills, not taking them with alcohol, eating something that wasn’t usually found on the plate of a soldier in the middle of a combat zone and – after Q started to work for him again – that he didn’t fall out the window while being a creep.

Much to Eve’s surprise, she found James in his bed and even more surprising, he didn’t cause his usual scene when the doctor started checking him out. The head nurse temporarily assigned to him because he was a movie start that could afford that also expressed how happy she was that she had been blessed with such patient who never did what he wasn’t supposed to and who cooperated. She seemed less happy to report that James had also kept their relationship professional and never hit on her even once.

“What are you up to?” Eve asked because the only logical conclusion to James Bond being sensible wasn’t that a miracle had happened and he matured overnight but that he was playing at something.

James glanced at the window. “Do you really have to ask?”

No, she supposed she didn’t. “If you keep this up, you’ll get better in record time,” Eve said instead, smiling when the doctor nodded in agreement and then excused himself to go talk to the nurses.

“Just tell me to keep it up then and M will find a way to love you even more for finally taming me.”

But she hadn’t. “You are too much of an old dog to learn new tricks so I’ll do the smart thing and not take any credit for this. Still,” she added, her glare softening, “I’m glad to see you’re taking it slow, even if it’s for someone else’s wellbeing instead of yours. On that note, how’s the car coming along?”

Before James could answer, Hans informed Eve that M was on the phone for her and by the time they were done talking, James was out like a light. Stronger medicine than what he was usually given since this round of wounds was more serious than usual.

Eve really hoped that they weren’t addicting, preferring having to work with a love-struck idiot over a drug addict with money.


	8. Chapter 8

James was roused by a loud noise, his first instinct of jumping from where he was and ducking proving extremely painful, the shock he got from that reminding him that he had long since quit being in the navy and that he was safe and sound in his room.

“Storm, not enemy ship,” James said out loud, running a hand through his hair.

As a child, he used to love storms. He’d huddle under the softest comforter in the house while his mother sang for him or told him stories and he remembered wishing that the storm would last forever. But nothing does and later on in life, he’d learn to be thankful for that because while adrenaline made him feel alive, he hated warm.

“Storm, not enemy ship,” he insisted, struggling to pour himself a glass of Scotch before hoping over to the window to chase away the image of angry waves that refused to leave him be. And then he caught sight of something that instantly grounded him in reality. “Q.” Or rather, someone.

For whatever reason, Q was sitting huddled under the edge of the garage’s rooftop, shirtless and shivering. The car was nowhere in sight so it was safe to assume that it had been tucked into the garage but then what the hell was Q doing out there?

“Get in here before you catch a cold!”

Q looked up and shook his head. “I’m dirty and I don’t want to—”

“Do I really look like I care about that?” James snapped, grabbing the crutch and towel Hans brought him before wobbling less than gracefully out of his room, down the stairs and to the foyer where the shivering Q was awkwardly sitting on his toes in an attempt to make as little mess as possible. “I thought you were smart.”

“I am,” Q snapped, teeth chattering as he was forced by James purposefully dropping his crutch to step on the carpet to keep him from falling. “I can’t say I thought the same of you given that you openly flaunt the real you and do death defying stunts instead of professionally trained people.”

“You’re afraid of dirtying my rugs but have no problem insulting me to my face.” He kept to himself the fact that he looked really hot while doing that, the droplets of water slowly rolling down his neck, over the Adam’s apple that was suddenly just right for a bit of nibbling, down his collarbone before sliding down his chest and the surprise six-pack – not as obvious as James’ but the fact that it was just a hint made it even more delicious – and disappearing in the waist band of his trousers. All the oil that was on him only made James want to naked wrestle Q until he was nothing more than a whimpering ball of pleasure under him. “How did you get so dirty anyway?”

“I changed some things under the car after testing to see how it ran with the original setup and this happened.” He looked frustrated as he tried to wipe his arm against his leg without losing his balance. “I tried washing using one of the hoses, but that water was somehow colder than the rain—”

“I’m sure a bath has been drawn for you by now so let’s get you in it before you get pneumonia,” James interrupted him, not sure he could listen to anything more without a vein bursting in his head. “I feel the need to strongly hint again that you aren’t all that smart.”

“You are high on a lot of pain medicine so I have no qualms about dropping you,” Q warned but held James tighter when he stumbled, the tips of his ears reddening. “I’ll drop you on my terms, not yours. Now, where am I supposed to go? I’m pretty sure your house is bigger than all of the apartments in my building put together.”

Half an hour later, James was doing his best to be a step ahead of the freshly-washed Q while giving him a tour of his house so he wouldn’t stare at how the way too big bathrobe kept slipping off his shoulder or at how close it was to opening because Q kept stepping on the belt.

James blamed his sudden lack of his usual charm and his sweaty palms that he didn’t notice until they reached the kitchen and tried to grab himself a mug of freshly brewed coffee only to drop it on the medication that he was on. He had a hard time thinking about what he wanted to lunch and he felt his brain muddled even when he wasn’t facing someone he was interested in so of course everything was going to be a disaster when he was trying to impress.

“You have a nice house but maybe you should hold off on showing me around when you aren’t higher than a kite,” Q said softly and James needed a moment to understand that the reason he was kneeling before him was because he was cleaning up his mess and not because a dream he might have had that morning was coming true.

Out of all the moments for his brain to be able to focus on a single thought, why did it have to be now and on this? “Leave that for someone else and let’s move to the sitting room with the fire place.”

He held his good hand out to help Q stand up only for it to be ignored in favour of the more reliable kitchen counter. “Only if you promise not to light the fire yourself,” Q teased, waiting for James to wrap himself around him before very slowly starting to move to the back of the house.

James attempted to do small talk but Q was less than cooperative, keeping his answers monosyllabic and by the time they reached their destination, the fire was roaring, the room was warm, and James decided that his house was just too big for him when he was wounded. He also decided that Q needed to learn how to relax, something which he shared with the mechanic and that earned him a very hard glare and made sure to be extremely obvious when he scooted a bit further from James.

“I’m not putting the moves on you and we’re alone, so relax,” James said, leaning back and tucking his arms under his head. How had he not bought a bear skin for this room?

He felt Q staring at him for a minute before he also leaned back, although he turned with his back to him and curled up, the sound of his breathing and the cracking of the fire making it really hard for him to keep his eyes open.

“I’m jealous,” Q spoke up just as James was about to fall asleep. “Not at your success or your house but at how freely and fearlessly you show your inclination.”

“They finally stopped thinking of it a sickness – at least officially.” He saw Q looked surprised over his shoulder and he flashed him a small smile. “I keep track of politics.”

“You don’t seem the type,” Q admitted, looking away from James and went back to trying to make himself even smaller. “It’s still illegal and I lost a very close friend when…” he trailed off and James thought he saw him quiver, but kept his arms to himself. They weren’t close enough – or drunk enough – for Q to share this with him without immediately stopping if the bubble he shielded himself in was popped. “He died on New Year’s Eve and I still stupidly wear that rag even though I panic whenever someone recognizes it because he recognized my friend and he knew our language and that’s just not…”

James damned privacy when he heard Q hiccup and rolled closer so he could squeeze his shoulder. “I agree that it isn’t fair but if you don’t risk it, your soul will slowly rot away and you’ll be both numb and in pain.”

He kept his hand on Q’s shoulder until he turned and moved closer to him, the warm light of the fire dancing off of his brown hair, making it look like he had a fiery halo. “I’m not a star-fucker.”

“I can be your friend who makes sure that whoever you sleep with will never rattle on you to the cops,” James promised.

“And I’ll keep yours at no charge.” The honest smile Q gave him made the room brighter and the next time James blinked, he was looking down at a sleeping Q who had moved even closer in his sleep, their legs entangled, the bright light of the new day filling the room.

Yes, James might never share a bed with him but he will share his immunity.


	9. Chapter 9

There were so many flashes going off right in front of their faces that Q was sure his eyes would turn to dust. In fact, if it wasn’t for Eve’s arm being linked with his, he would have covered his face until the whole ordeal was over.

“Remember to show them your teeth and not to close your eyes,” Eve whispered in his ear as she turned to face him so the photographers could take just the right pictures of sparkling golden dress. “Turn to face me and keep smiling,” she continued to instruct him and Q did just that, doing his best not to look too awkward when Eve moved to rest their foreheads together.

A scandalous move for the US press, the flashes visibly decreasing even if M had made sure to portray them as two close friends who made it out of the slums and worked in perfect synch to ensure that James’ star shone as brightly as possible on and off the screen.

The whole process had been very costly for M what with Q’s boss being presented with a hefty sum to agree to let him go and then with all the classes Q had to take to ensure that he didn’t embarrass James or his management company while in society.

High class dancing and eating lessons because old money loved nothing more than to throw parties where movie stars were invited, talking to the press lessons because that was a thing, red carpet walking because that was also a thing and while it was acceptable for him to be himself while not at an official gathering, it would be an absolute disaster for someone who wasn’t an actual actor not to walk in a certain way and last, but not least, posing lessons and Q hated each and every one of them.

He still did his best because M didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who would be happy with a bad investment and because he and James were friends. Close friends. Friends who went to a special in search for that perfect companion even if Q never left with anyone because James had shown how much he could care by taking him under his wing to ensure that he could enjoy the warmth of another person and made himself be more than hot in Q’s mind so he was now hopelessly in love with him.

But that wasn’t something he was going to focus on anytime soon.

“A few more steps and you can relax,” James promised as Q and Eve fell in line with him and Madeleine – the actress that was presented to the world as his current paramour – and posed.

The second they stepped into the building, Q slumped and started to rub his sore face. How the hell could James do this and not have is face permanently frozen in a smile was beyond him.

“Everything okay?” James asked, having abandoned Madeleine in favour of making sure Q got to his seat right next to his without any problems. “You did wonderful for your first red carpet, you know, and the cameras were more than in love you with.”

“M promised me that if I screwed this up, she’d make me stand in front of multiple cameras until I take ten consecutive perfect pictures so I’m happy to hear that won’t be needed,” Q murmured, still rubbing his eyes. “But I’m afraid I won’t be able to see you total two cars because I lost my eyesight.”

“If you saw the last one, you saw this one,” Madeleine chimed in, putting a glass of champagne in Q’s hand, ignoring James’ grumbling and missing the very hard glare that Eve sent her way. “Also, blink really fast for the next few minutes and you’ll feel better. If it fails, force yourself to yawn but be subtle about it just in case one of the piranhas with notepads and pencils snuck in.”

Q made a mental note to disagree with Madeleine at the end of the movie and then try to find a way to keep her from telling James just how big of an ‘Sterling’ fan he was since he didn’t think he could put up with James flexing or using lines from the movie every time they saw each other.

His enjoyment of the movie severely dropped when a car chase started and he clutched the edge of the seat so hard that his knuckles turned white by remembering how horrible he’d felt not knowing what had happened, how serious James’ wounds where, and if he was to blame for everything.

“I’m fine,” James whispered in his ear, his warm hand silencing the whirlwind in Q’s head.

“You can tell what the weather’s going to be like with your bones,” Q reminded him. “If I could just come up with something that—”

“That just means I can become a meteorologist when I retire,” James interrupted Q, entwining their fingers. “Just enjoy the movie and squeeze my hand when you start overthinking again because this isn’t when the other car rammed in me at top speed.”

And with that little titbit the movie was ruined for Q. It was okay for him to make jokes about the whole thing because he took out the human factor but when James talked about it, he somehow managed to find new horrible ways of describing it.

The one who had sabotaged the car had been caught or rather, he offered himself on a silver platter, deep bags under his eyes and a red cheek from where he had been slapped by his fiancée a night before when he had accidentally come clean about why he was suddenly drinking so much.

He hadn’t meant for the dreadful accident to happen but he didn’t know how cars worked and he’d hoped – well, his employers – that the studio wouldn’t want to be forced to pay for yet another Aston Martin as well as the extra insurance which would then result in James being without a job and more than available for the rival studio to snatch up.

M was incorporating the rival studio into her company even before the full statement was officially recorded, sweeping everything under a rock and presenting James with quite a large sum of money for all his troubles.

Maybe James was her pawn as the man had been to the rival studio.

In hindsight, it was those thoughts that put Q in a bad disposition, not the fact that the actual accident had been included in the movie, his stomach not quite sitting right with the idea of losing another friend that he’d crushed on from the first time he’d seen him in a movie and then fell in love with him when he’d gone out of his way to allow him to live his life without fear of anyone.

He managed to hide his bad disposition from the reporters who seemed more interested in what he had to say rather than the actual critics present there. It displeased him that the reporters were so in love with him, especially since he had to repeat himself over and over that it was a great movie and that it was worth seeing and that no, he really couldn’t tell them what happened in it since he would then rob them of a great experience, relaxing when James dipped Madeline and kissed her, shifting all the attention to them.

“I’ve seen him make a kiss last for five minutes,” Eve whispered in his ear, chuckling when she saw Q lick his lips. “His companions say that he makes them feel like they lasted a lifetime,” she continued, linking their arms together. “Still, the cameramen get bored of seeing him do that quite fast, so we best be on our way before they remember that they were interrogating you.”

There was no problem if they left early as they arrived in separate cars and Q had been more than happy with that since he could finally slump and get rid of the bowtie that made him feel like he was constantly choked.

Thank God he had a lot of his own clothes at James’ house.


	10. Chapter 10

When James finally arrived at his estate, tired and more than annoyed that he had been bombarded with questions of when he planned on getting married, he found a buzzed Q dressed in his comfortable and colourful clothing lounging on the bearskin in front of the roaring fireplace that their friendship had kindled.

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight of Q and mix it with disappointment that he wasn’t naked and that they weren’t tasting each other again and again before shaking his head and look around to see if they were alone.

“Eve said you kiss for ages and then went home,” Q said, tilting his head back to look at James, smiling.

James smiled back. “And you found my wine cellar, didn’t you?” Q nodded, his smile becoming bigger and brighter. This was when James should stay away, run to the place where so many were eager to give them their hearts and let Q sober up. But Q also looked lonely in his intoxication, his green eyes shining the same way they did that day in the parking lot so he joined him. “At least something of mine is to your taste tonight.”

Q smile dropped and turned his attention to his glass of wine. “It was your best movie yet, although many will think the jetpack to be impossible.”

“But not you.” The silence between them stretched like the cold ocean, deep and seemingly never-ending and when it became unbearable, James broke it. “What do you find impossible?”

Q moved then, faster and with more intent than James thought possible given the two empty wine bottles he spotted as he was pushed on his back. “Not knowing the taste of your lips,” Q whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as he drew closer to James’.

Their lips never met, Q passing out the second his eyes closed and James sighed in relief as he lay on the floor with Q snoring on top of him since, while he might have had more than a few dreams in which they were kissing and breaking beds, he never wanted their first anything to happen while either one of them was drunk.

He easily sat up with Q in his arms and silently carried him to the bedroom that had become his over the past year and quickly tucked him in bed, making sure that he wasn’t going to roll over on his back and choke on his own vomit before going to his own room.

Sleep came very hard to James that night which was to be expected given that this was the first time Q hit on him. He suspected that the reason Q wasn’t connecting with anyone was because he had a torch for someone but he had long since gave up on hoping that it was him.

He tossed and turned, jumping from glee that Q would finally move in his room and that M would have to do her best to cover for them even more to dread at the possibility that Q didn’t really mean what he said, that he was just drunk and horny and because James was there instead of the person he was really interested in, he decided to fuck it and sleep with him.

It didn’t take long for him to get annoyed with his own brain, failing to understand how it was possible for a man of his age, his status and – well – his gender to be fretting and losing sleep over something as ridiculous as another man’s interest in him. He knew for a fact that he could land himself better looking men than Q with just a wink even if he wasn’t recognized because that’s exactly what had happened three years ago when he was in this one European country he couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of, so why was he losing sleep over everything?

Because it was Q and because he couldn’t really remember that man’s name, let alone his smile.

A light knock at his door startled him out of his apparent introspective and James was surprised to find that it was morning, the light pouring through the window stinging his eyes and instantly triggering a headache. “Still okay to enter my room without knocking, Q,” he called out, groaning as he rubbed his wrists against his eyes.

“Still not rude,” Q said as he entered the room, avoiding James’ eyes as he placed a mug of steaming coffee on the bedside table. “On that note, I would like to apologize for ridding you of two bottles of fine wine last night. Eve brought them up while we were waiting for you and then things get muddy after the third glass.”

That woke James up even more. “You don’t remember last night?”

Q’s light blush answered for him. “I didn’t say that,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “I do remember being rather insistent about getting a kiss.”

“I never got around to telling you that I’m glad you’re not a star fucker,” James said, tugging Q closer to the bed until he had no choice but to sit down. “I don’t know if you ever paid attention to who I was charming, but I avoided the ones with silver like they were the Pope himself and if you still want to know how it is to be kissed by me for ages, I’m more than happy to show you over and over again.” He leaned closer to Q, their lips almost touching, but he didn’t move to kiss him. He’d done his part by telling Q what he felt and the ball was now in Q’s court.

“I puked earlier and I need to wash my mouth some more since I still feel bitter even though I brushed for like 20 minutes before coming to your room,” Q blurted out, gabbing James’ arm like he was afraid he’d run away. “And I’m afraid I made quite a mess but Agatha – you know, your head maid – said that it was fine and that you did much worse—”

James had noticed that when Q was nervous, he tended to over-explain everything except for the thing that got him in that state. He was still trying to find a kind way to stop him when he got like this – Eve discovered that pinching his arm did the trick but James didn’t want to inflict pain on him or see him flinch every time he touched him – so he decided to test something and leaned forward, kissing Q’s temple.

It didn’t stop him instantly, Q acting like a car whose breaks have been hit, slowing down before coming to a full stop, face slowly reddening as his fingers hovered over where James had kissed him.

“You’re the only person who’s pleasantly surprised me so I can’t wait to have out first kiss sprung on me, provided we’re both sober.” He brushed his thumb against Q’s lips before leaning back in the bed, burying his nose in Q’s soft brown hair that smelled like freshly cut grass, oil, musky wine, and a hit of the expensive cologne he was wearing last night when Q laid on top of him, nuzzling his neck.

All mornings needed to start like this.


	11. Chapter 11

When being gay got somewhat decriminalised in most of England in 1967, James was more than ready to come out. He wasn’t going to force Q to come out with him and if needed, he was going to swear to hell and back that they were nothing more than friends until Q decided otherwise, but he felt he had enough of pretending to date his female co-stars just to pander to the masses expectations.

Q had a panic attack when he heard what James wanted to do. “You have a death wish and I’m the idiot who fell for you and who’s going to be forced to burry you before your time,” Q accused him between taking deep breaths in a paper bag.

It hurt James to see Q like that so he agreed to wait a bit longer. However Q had taken note of James mentioning that he no longer wanted to parade with woman after woman and pretend like they were more than friends and after a two hour meeting – which was the snarkiest, snappiest and sassiest meeting Eve had ever seen and she regretted that there – James was presented to the world as a ‘confirmed bachelor’.

“I know it’s not exactly what you wanted and if you still—”

“It’s more than a good start,” James said and then made sure to show Q just how thankful he was.

However, when he saw just how more violent things became now that some people had the guts to show their true colours, James never felt inclined to share his sexuality with the world.

In 1971, James realized that if he really wanted to spend the rest of his life with Q, a marriage contract was needed.

Q’s family outright hated him. They had had a very strong suspicion that their son was Q which got confirmed the moment they moved in together. Q had tried to hide that from James but it wasn’t all that hard to figure out given that his lover always looked like he was either on the edge of tears or already cried out after he came back from visiting them.

He finally came clean one night close to Christmas and told him that his parents were blaming his ‘decadent lifestyle’ on the fact that the Boothroyd family name was going to die with him and that his soul will burn in the fires of Hell for all eternity.

James was already shaking with anger when he noticed that one side of Q’s face was redder than the other. “Did something else happen?” He asked even though he already knew the answer.

“It’s stupid for a man my age to still get slapped by his mother, but…” Q trailed off and just melted in James’ arms, under the butterfly kisses that his face got covered in. “She didn’t like it when I brought up Nazis and when I told her that I do not mind burning in Hell if you were by my side.”

“For you, I’ll conquer Hell and ensure that you carry on with the lifestyle you’re accustomed,” James promised, happy that he got a chuckle out of Q. “And if you’re keen on kids, we’ll find a way to adopt. Money makes the world go round and all that.”

That should have been the end of Boothroyd family stories until they realized that their child deserved to be happy and in love with whoever he wanted, not with what a silly old book dictated. But then Q got in an accident that landed him unconscious in the hospital and James was denied entry because he was not family and because his would-be mother in law refused to see him within a hundred meters of her child.

“If only we were bloody married,” James drunkenly bemoaned to Eve.

And if only the Nullity of Marriage Act which defined that marriage could only be between a male and a female hadn’t passed just that year.

The following year, things became more complicated for the two of them when one of James’ old flings dumped his seven year old son on them.

“Look, the kid is great but I still look young and I can’t really sacrifice more of my time than I already did with him,” she was saying as she was powdering her nose, frowning for a moment when she registered her son’s sniffles before leaning forward to pinch his cheeks and pat his head. “Remember what I told you about crying, dear.”

“That it makes me look like a shrivelled grape and that won’t land me any roles,” the poor boy hiccupped.

Any doubt James might have had about Q accepting his son disappeared the second he wrapped the small child in his arms and pulled him away from the wretched creature that dared to call herself a mother. “Cry as much as you want and don’t worry about something as silly as roles,” Q said reassuringly. “Although if you cry, you won’t be able to enjoy the hot chocolate I’ll make for you.”

The woman tried to match the glare that Q sent her and failed miserably which made her huff and return to powdering her nose. “Sure, make him fat—”

“What’s his name?” James interrupted her, his voice as cold as an iceberg.

She pouted. “I don’t remember you being so rude.”

“What’s his name?” James asked again, clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles were white.

“Jamie.” She almost sounded human when she said that, but then she continued to talk. “If you keep my shameful secret, I will keep your skinny and disgusted one. Why did I sleep with you again?”

“Because you thought I’d get a director to make you a leading lady in my movie and I was dumb enough to fall for your charms.” James hadn’t realized that he was shouting or that he was close to slapping her until he felt Q’s hand on his arm, his green eyes silently pleading him not to make things harder for his son – oh God, he had a son! “I’ll sign the papers and never mention who his mother his as long as you leave and never come back.”

“I’ll need some money for all the pain—”

“5,000 quid and not a penny more,” James cut her off, the woman smiling proudly at the sum the fruit of her loins brought her.

The following years got tricky. James grew up fast and the world gave the impression that it was doing the same. They watched the very first UK Pride parade and were happy when people took issue when a gay man was fired just for being gay. They moved around funds to be able to donate to The London Gay Teenage group and celebrated when Scotland also decriminalised homosexual acts between two men over 21 in private in 1980 and happily tuned in on BBC2 to watch the documentary on Julia Grant’s transition.

By then James had stepped down from his role of the dashing international spy and main roles in general, only accepting small roles in movies both he and Q found amusing and while the press cried over that for a bit, it quickly got distracted by younger actors who seemed to do everything in their power to remain in the limelight as much as possible.

The AIDS crisis came out of nowhere as all plagues do and both James and Q feared that one day they would wake up to find the other dead. Not wanting to be left alone with regrets, they started going around the world, visiting everything that seemed even remotely interesting.

When a part in a movie brought them back on British soil, Q’s family surfaced again, his mother in hysterics over the possibility of having to bury her child so soon after burying her husband. She begged him to come over to dinner and Q agreed, provided no one spoke ill of his relationship with James or of James in general.

His mother invited James over to dinner the day before the two of them went to get tested for AIDS in 1984. It started off as a quiet affair that James silently prayed would end as something that could almost be called pleasant, but Q’s mother looked like she was constantly on the verge of tears. James pretended not to notice anything but Q asked what was wrong, barely holding himself from demanding to know if she was having an allergic reaction to all their gayness.

“I’m not fully on board with this,” she started, waving in James’ general direction, “but you’re happy and that’s good enough for me and now you might die.” She was outright crying now, hiccupping her way through apologies and mentioning Nazis in between hugging her son and patting James’ arm.

When their tests came back negative and she was told, she sighed in relief and proved Q wrong in his assumption that she was just trying to save herself from getting haunted by asking him and James to visit her as often as they wanted and when she was finally introduced to Jamie, she turned into the sweetest grandmother the world had ever known, although M was doing her best to give her a run for her money.

Her death in 1987 hurt Q but he admitted that he would be even more upset if she had tied before things were mended between them. Feeling that she had won, M followed her in 1988 and James truly understood why Q had been so reluctant to leave their bed for the first month, finally admitting to himself that M had been like a mother to him.

The 90’s came and went with good and bad news for the gay community, James and Q celebrating their 34th year together in Japan since it was Q’s favourite country.

“The world is supposed to end tonight,” James said while he carefully opened a bottle of champagne, a spring in his step as he made his way back to the table set up on the balcony outside, under a dome of glass – Q thinks James never lost that youthful way of walking, even though he was 74.

Not that he looked his age, the handsome devil. “Don’t think I forgot that you promised me Hell.” He tilted his head back slightly and accepted the offered kiss, the world moving into the new millennium. “Happy New Year, my heart.”

“Happy New Year, my soul.”

If Eve was still around to hear them use those pet names without an ounce of irony in their voice, her teasing would be endless.

They didn’t expect anything to happen once the 2000 arrived but the world acted like it had been bitched slapped to reality – or at least the UK. The labour government stopped banning homosexuals from the armed forces and people start fighting Section 28. In 2001, gay 16 year olds were finally allowed to act like all 16 year olds and threesomes and more-somes between gay men finally became legal.

“A bit too late for that in our case,” Q joked as he ditched the tablet with enormous letters – his eyesight had gone from bad to worse the older he got but technology had gone into overdrive so things weren’t that terrible for him – in favour of his usual cup of tea.

James narrowed his eyes. “Even if it were legal back when we had the stamina, I wouldn’t have shared you with anyone even if my life depended on it.” Q patiently waited for the grumpy old man James turned into when he was jealous to surface. “Was it the gardener from the 80s?”

There he was. “I never had a crush on any gardeners no matter how young or shirtless they were. Was that why we kept changing them?”

“Is it the driver?”

“Don’t drag poor Bill in this and don’t be rude to him either,” Q chided. James always reverted to using the title jobs of the people he was upset with. “He covered for us even after he was traumatized by what we were doing in the backseat those nights when we were too drunk and too horny to remember where we were.”

“How do I know he didn’t like seeing that over and over again?” James grumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

Q thought about teasing him some more but decided against it. “You would have been the third person, now settle down and take your pills like a nice grouchy old man.”

“You’re a grouchy old man,” James shot back but still kissed Q before doing what he had been asked.

In 2002, all gay couples could finally adopt. They were together when they found out and James turned to see Q’s shoulders tense, his entire body becoming ridged as it always happened when he wanted to ask something that he too much to ask for.

“You raised Jamie as much as I did, maybe even more,” James started, pulling Q to his chest and nuzzling the top of his head – his hair had long lost its brown colour but it was as soft and as wild as ever. “You don’t have to ask for my permission to adopt him.” Q melted in his arms and all was good in the world.

Q didn’t call little Jamie right away and James didn’t push him. Now ‘little Jamie’ was a 37-year-old man now that had three kids of his own that just loved coming up with impossible blueprints with their Grand Q and watching old movies with their Pa James, but he’d always be ‘little Jamie’ in Q’s mind.

Two weeks after their conversation, James woke up to Q crying. “I’m not dead,” he blurted out, groaning as he sat up in bed a bit too fast, his back cracking – why was it so painful to be old? “Keep in mind that Jamie is my child so he got some of the stupid for me.”

“He said that he has been trying to ask me to adopt him ever since he heard the news.” Ah, tears of joy followed by kisses of joy. Perfect way to start the day. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Q purred in his ear, nipping James’ earlobe. “But now that it can’t be helped, what do you say to a little throwback to how we’d start our mornings back when we were young?”

Two weeks later, Q was signing the adoption papers and James was still suffering from throwing his back out.

There was an increase in pieces of art all over their kitchen walls made by their grandkids representing the two of them and rainbows in 2003 since the law that prohibited talking about anything that wasn’t straight had finally ben overturned.

And then finally, in 2004 – 33 years after James had been kept from being by the wounded Q’s side because they weren’t married and 39 after they were as good as married – The Civil Partnership Act was passed by the Labour Government which finally allowed same-sex couples to get married – technically. It was very similar to a civil marriage but it wasn’t called that because of reasons that James didn’t particularly cared about.

Bottom line was that England had finally reached a point when they wouldn’t go to jail for who they loved and after papers were signed, no one could stop either one of them from visiting each other in the hospital – not that there was still anyone in their families who would want to do that, but it was the principle of the thing.

He wanted to surprise Q with a fully planned wedding but he just stuck to the proposal since he couldn’t wait to see which of them was going to be the ‘Groomzilla’ – probably him because he wanted everything to be perfection after an entire lifetime of watching Q sigh wishfully during straight weddings.

James decided to pop the question on their anniversary even though it was a cliché, pointing out to his soon to be disowned son if he didn’t stop laughing, that him doing that couldn’t be considered a cliché because he was from the age of the originals.

“Surely it was a cliché back then,” Jamie insisted, grabbing his father’s mug of coffee and pouring it down the drain before James had a chance to so much as smell it. “Remind me to yell at Mateo later for still buying you coffee even though you’re not allowed to have it.”

“If you can’t remember things on your own at 39, why would I remember at 79?” Jamie learned how to glare from Q, but he still paled in comparison so it didn’t affect James. “Look at that, I already forgot what you were nagging me about.”

“Perhaps you actually want dad to plan your funeral instead of your wedding.”

Now it was James’ turn to glare. Jamie really didn’t pull his punches. “You also got the mouth from Q, you brat,” he grumbled, stomping over to where he was hiding his coffee and dumping all of it in the trash. “Can I at least have decaf?”

“We’ll see what the doctor says.” That translated to a definitive ‘hell no’. “Going back to your intention, before you decide to propose while skydiving and triggering a heart attack or two, I’d like you to keep in mind that I’m sure you’ll get a positive answer even if you pop the question while you’re on the toilet and dad is brushing his teeth right next to you.”

With Q, extremes never worked, especially if they put James in real danger or if they implied that something wasn’t worth the effort – and James struggled to come up with something that said the latter more than a proposal in the middle of being constipated. “Thank you for your tips but I just need you to keep your dad busy on our anniversary without overworking him or worrying him. Can you do that?”

“No, but your grandkids can.”

Q was practically dragged out of the bed on the day of their anniversary, Jamie doing an excellent job of acting like a tired parent who not only had to work for the entire day because his bosses were evil but also just found out that all three of his children suddenly remembered that they all had a major projects that couldn’t be completed without prancing around half of London and that needed to be turned in on Monday. To add more credibility to the whole thing, Jamie’s wife called before he arrived to apologize in the weakest voice she could muster for the inconvenience and James also faked a joint problem that prevented him to get out of bed.

“Does that mean that I have to dress everyone up for a storm, weather boy?” Q asked, the crinkle that appeared on his forehead whenever he thought he was being bullshitteded more obvious than ever.

If he forced Q to walk around with 4 umbrellas and 4 windbreakers on a perfectly sunny weather, he was going to make him swallow the ring. “More like a light drizzle. You know how these old bones like to exaggerate now that I’m 79.”

“Right.” Q sent him one last hard glare before sighing. “Whatever you two are up to just make sure that you don’t blow up the house.”

That just made James want to make his proposal even bigger than before and the second Q’s car could no longer be seen by the security guard at the gate, Jamie was sent to buy more candles while James busied himself with making their backyard look like a place ripped right out of a fairy-tale. The ever patient – and well-paid – household staff lent the old man a hand, hanging the expensive almost see-through silk veils in the trees and also helped with the fairy lights that James asked Jamie to buy when he was five minutes away from the house.

There was almost a childish glee on James’ face as he stated to create a path of candles that no one was allowed to light but him since this was his proposal for Q from the backdoor to where a table and two chairs had been set up and Jamie’s own smile faltered, all too aware of his father’s age – but tonight was not for worry or dark thoughts of the inevitable; tonight was a night that existed outside of time when he had to think of the two men who raised him as ageless.

James also insisted on cooking and arranging the table himself, honestly annoyed when Jamie expressed his surprise at how good the food tasted. “I cooked for your ungrateful ass for many years because the first time our cook did, you got sick, so don’t act all surprised,” James grumbled under his breath before taking a step back from the plates to admire his handy work. “Maybe it’s too much of a cliché and Q will hate it.”

“But you know I love your clichés almost as much as I love you,” Q said from the doorway, definitely posing in the dark green three piece suit that he definitely didn’t have on in the morning. “Jamie, dear, I dropped off the kids at your house. Lynn said to hurry home.”

“I’m already gone,” Jamie called out over his shoulder, making sure to slam the front door as hard as he could to signal his parents that they were all alone.

When Q turned to look at James and saw him kneeling and holding out a small, dark blue velvet box, his face softened even more. “What about dinner?”

“Can’t eat when I’m nervous,” James admitted, clearing his throat. “Quintiliano Lyon Henrik Boothroyd, would you do me the honour of officially and legally becoming my husband?”


End file.
